This version of "Two Butterflies" will mostly take place in The Untamed verse, with a little mix of the novel, but it's not entirely same universe as "For the Love of a Child" regarding the First Siege of the Burial Mounds. In this pastime, the Wen Remnants were hanged, A-Yuan was left behind, and Wei Wuxian allowed himself to fall to his death at Nightless City. And obviously we don't get to see the Wen remnants coming back from the pool of blood in this one.
But!
I might write another bonus AU version of "Two Butterflies" that is both like the novel version and a hopefully direct sequel to "For the Love of a Child," which is also supposed to be a mix of all three versions, but is mostly meant for to be for, hopefully, between season 2 and 3 of the anime "Mo Dao Zu Shi." I'm dying for season 3, but MDZS chibi versions are so freaking cute that I just watch those episodes over and over and still laugh to tears at their shenanigans.
I'll get back to you on that one. In the meantime, thank you all for your kudos and comments! I wish I could get these chapters done more quickly and in good shape, but being in quarantine doesn't necessarily mean I have as much time and energy to write as I want. My job is actually busier than ever because of CO-VID, so it's forty hours a week from morning to night for nearly a year.
That being said, thank you for your patience and support! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Daylight seemed to return since they exited the darkness of the Burial Mounds. Sizhui felt he had to readjust his vision from being trapped in the cave with his tied-up companions for so long. It felt really good to see the blue and greens of nature become more dominant.
Since they had managed to leave the Burial Mounds, alive and shaken by a brand-new revelation regarding their current Chief Cultivator, Sizhui kept looking every few minutes in Hanguang-Jun's direction. His eyes lingered on Senior Wei's limp form, still unconscious in his father's arms ahead of the juniors, who now gathered around in whispers of concern and wonder. He swallowed, his chest tightening, as he thought about everything that has happened.
Senior Wei.
Thinking about it now, Sizhui knew he had always been intrigued by this strange man. From the moment he came bursting through the crowd of Mo Manor, kicking and screaming like the lunatic they all thought he was. Even when recalling what he knew about the Yiling Patriarch —about Wei Wuxian—he couldn't help but feel there was an important piece of information he was missing.
Just not knowing it felt like a wall Sizhui has always been wary of confronting as he grew older.
Perhaps it was because every time the topic came up, or when Sizhui finally had the courage to ask, he was met with vague answers, or none at all. Worse, whenever he brought it up to Hanguang-Jun...there was always this heart-wrenching grief that broke through the steady stoicism the boy had grown up with. It always left him feeling so guilty that Sizhui dared not ask again.
Over time he thought about it less and less...until it became an unchecked memory that resurfaced on the days when his father just became particularly sad.
Lately, those unchecked memories kept sneaking back on him. Starting with the song of the flute––his father's lullaby––reaching out to Sizhui with peaceful familiarity that night at Mo Manor. He knew he had heard it before, though not just Hanguang-jun's guqin. Listening to its beautiful melody made him feel like a toddler again.
Another time had been when he and his group were forced to eat spicy congee to cure their corpse poisoning at Coffin City. He could still feel the seared after-effects of the chili peppers from the back on his throat, though the taste had brought back a strong sense of nostalgia. It was though he recalled having tasted something as terrible as this before.
Even long before that, however, everything about Mo Xuanyu had screamed familiar. It made Sizhui understand a little bit why his father as so unusually attentive to Young Master Mo, though it didn't make it any less confusing, or shocking.
From his cheerful wittiness to his unnervingly calm composure in the face of demonic activity, to his reassuring and subtle display of protectiveness in the form of playfulness that he showed more than half the time around him and his friends, it made Sizhui feel, whether in Hanguang-jun's absence or without, confident and safe around the man. Like a weird sort of guardian.
A big brother…or a father.
"Don't be afraid, Sizhui."
"I'm not afraid."
The elder of the two barely a gave him a side-long glance with a hint of teasing smile. "You aren't?"
Also finding himself smiling, despite the rolling churn of worry in his stomach, Sizhui shook his head. "Mm-mm."
He was confident that the man would handle this. And despite the way the teen could read from Mo Xuanyu's body language, how he tilted his body so that it would stand between him and Xue Yang in case the delinquent attacked, the shadow of fear in his eyes glaring out from beneath its twinkle, Sizhui would trust in him.
'It's strange, and I don't know why' he thought as he left the house, looking over his shoulder at his senior, 'but as long as him and Hanguang-jun are close by, then I have nothing to be afraid of.'
Then there had been that time during the lantern festival in Tanzhou, when he spotted a stand full of handmade trinkets full of painted grasshoppers, one of which were had a peculiar grass-woven butterfly among the grasshopper, the last one on display. Exactly the same one he kept with him for many years, for as far back as he could remember. He had never found a butterfly of the exact same craftsmanship ever since, until now.
He had asked the maiden at the stand if she had made it, but she told him her grandmother made that one; she already sold all the ones she made and still had her grasshoppers. He had asked her if her grandmother was here, but she told him she wasn't, that she was back in her father's home village, probably still hand-weaving and selling toys like this for children. When he asked which village her grandmother was from, she seemed reluctant to answer.
Jingyi had then called out to him, so Sizhui ended up buying the butterfly to match his first one and went to catch up with his friend.
He couldn't remember where he got his first butterfly, but later learned that Hanguang-jun was the one who bought it for him when he was very little. Perhaps before he was forced into seclusion? He wasn't sure.
Sizhui always kept the butterfly with him as a good luck charm and a source of comfort. Even during his night hunts, nearly grown.
Yet it always felt like it had been somewhere outside of Cloud Recess, outside of Gusu, that laughter filled his ears and strong warm arms (though it felt frailer than Hanguang-jun's ever had been) picked him up to swing him merrily up in the air until it felt like he were flying.
He tried to remember who that person had been, whenever he dwelled on that warmth, that smile, that laughter, that open and carefree love, all gradually coming back to him in his thoughts and in his dreams, wondering who it had come from and where. And every time he tried, which had been more often in the past few weeks than he had done in years, the image of Mo Xuanyu's face always seemed to fill in that gap in his memory...
...which didn't seem to entirely fit, nor did it make any sense, because Sizhui knew Senior Mo couldn't possibly be old enough to have been that mysterious father-figure from his past. Nor did he believe Hanguang-jun would show that much cheer to toss him so high the air, even on his happiest days.
He also remembered seeing black and red. Much like Mo Xuanyu had been wearing lately: black robes with a long red ribbon tying up his hair. Those colors that always seemed to give him a strong sense of nostalgia, even though there were no such colors displayed in Cloud Recess.
So Sizhui figured he was starting to remember his real father...though this thought just suddenly made him so sad, and it felt so painful.
Then he started overhearing rumors about the infamous Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian.
These were rumors borne from the history of the Sunshot Campaign that Sizhui has kept hearing about ever since he was a child, though they never necessarily settled well with him. The first time he did learn about the Yiling Patriarch, he remembered being as afraid as the rest of his fellow classmates. But, at the same time, it made feel...strangely intrigued.
He also learned, after some past misunderstandings, that the subject of Wei Wuxian had always upset his father to an alarming degree. Since then, after a lecture and a vague explanation from his father when things have calmed down between them, Sizhui had begun to truly learn that gossip from other people should never be a reliable source for the truth, nor should their beliefs have an effect on his own without substance.
In other words, Sizhui had to keep an open mind and invest thoroughly before making a claim.
Do not take your own words lightly. Speak meagerly. Do not make presumptions about others.
That being said, back at the inn, after the events at Yi City with Xue Yang, Song Lan, and the poor Maiden Qing, he hadn't meant to sound like he was speaking on Wei Wuxian behalf, and he certainly didn't mean to upset Jin Ling with his words, starting an argument in the process. Yet every time Wei Wuxian's name was brought up, he felt guilty from a longing stir in his heart that wanted to be defended with anger, even though he knew the young Jin heir had every right to hate the Yiling Patriarch and his Ghost General.
Sizhui had no right to temper his friend's hatred...but was it true? He had no evidence to support other than a gut feeling...and a memory. He wasn't even sure if the memory was even real!
Then he was here in the Burial Mounds, not long after hearing the truth about Senior Mo.
The lunatic who saved them, who caught Hanguang-Jun's interest, whom Sizhui felt a strange connection with, whom he quickly looked up to with unwavering trust and fascination––just like Jingyi, Ouyang Zichen, and friends (perhaps even Jin Ling, eventually)––and whom he wanted to make his father happy and learn more from, turned out to be the notorious Yiling Patriarch the whole time.
Wei Wuxian.
The master of demonic cultivation, the murderer of thousands, the creator of the Ghost General, and the enemy of the entire cultivation world.
At first they had been shocked when the news reached them from the Jin members that joined their night hunt days before. It didn't help that, in the same conversation, he heard that Jin Ling stabbed Wei Wuxian in the gut when he and his father had attempted to leave, and that both seniors were now declared fugitives of the cultivation world by the Chief Cultivator, having disappeared after that night.
At the time, Sizhui wasn't sure how to react, or what to say. He did, however, worry immensely for the wellbeing of his father, wondering when, or if, he would ever get to see him again.
When they first heard about it, Lan Jingyi ended up reacting in anger ("I knew it! I knew he was a fake! First I thought he was pretending to be a lunatic, but he was actually pretending to be another person!"), Ouyang Zichen devastated, Jin Ling looked like he was completely drained from both, and the rest of the mixed group of young sect members expressed their own reactions of betrayal and confusion. It didn't help that Jin Chan fed those negative feelings, reminding them that they had placed their trust in a murderer, who was probably plotting his next evil plan to dominate them as either "his personal minions or his sacrificial victims."
Perhaps Sizhui did feel a combination of all these, too wound up with such choked up emotions that he wasn't sure whether he should shout, cry, or laugh like a mad person, or just keep to himself with calm and dignity, just as his father and uncle would have while facing the music with the Lans' legendary stone-cold resilience. He could be good at hiding his emotions, but never in that impassive way Hanguang-jun often displayed.
Mo Xuanyu––no, Wei Wuxian had lied to them. And worse, it became more likely that his father did as well! This realization particularly upset Sizhui like a punch in the gut.
Lying is forbidden.
And worse, besides Jin Ling, he was the one given looks of pity.
They all knew by claim that out of all "the juniors" (as Young Master Mo would call them), it had been clear to them that Lan Sizhui was his favorite. Even Jingyi had pointed it out to him, during their time tied up in Demon Slaughtering Cave. This was a debate between the juniors that had lasted for nearly a whole day before they finally changed topics (which had been very awkward, considering that Sizhui was tied back-to-back with Jin Ling the whole time).
Feeling embarrassed, he had started to object, going so far as to argue that it was Jin Ling who was clearly the necromancer's favorite, since he always expressed a fierce, familial protectiveness of his feisty young nephew who always recklessly rushed headfirst into danger. And besides: one must not show favoritism, one must not be prideful, and one must not be arrogant. Jin Ling had been strangely quiet the whole time, but Sizhui could tell he was listening.
Then Jingyi stubbornly reminded him that it was Sizhui who had been the only one at the time who bothered to show any kindness and compassion to the cut-sleeve lunatic who burst into their lives at Mo Manor, while everyone else treated him like an animal or a fool. For all they knew, Sizhui could have been the first to do so, and Senior Mo (Wei) had never forgotten that.
("Also, Young Mistress there stabbed him," Jingyi added ruthlessly, jerking his head at Jin Ling, "so if you weren't his favorite before, then you definitely are now!" "Jingyi, enough!" Sizhui scolded him, while at the same time Jin Ling burst out in sudden anger, "Hey! Screw you! Shouldn't 'mind your own business' be a rule in your sect, too!?").
He didn't know what to tell his friend; it hadn't just been out of sympathy, or even his upbringing as a proper Lan under the influence of the Twin Jades of Gusu. Since that first day, Sizhui had felt an instant spark of connection towards the strange man in the mask. One that he couldn't ignore in the face of Senior Mo's abusive family.
When he stepped in between them, and had later tried to kindly coax the young master into relinquishing their spirit lure flag, the masked man had looked at him with surprise and confusion. It was then followed shortly by a soft kind of sadness that shown in his eyes. The longer he stared at the Lan teen, his eyes then roaming from his forehead ribbon to the faint cloud-like patterns on his white robes, the mistier they came.
Those eyes would lose focus on reality before the man curled up on the ground with the Spirit Luring Flag still bunched up in his hands, as though he were suddenly in pain.
Worried, Sizhui had knelt down with him and gently asked what was wrong, but then the young master startled him by promptly reverting back to being a childish madman. He just stood up, threw down their flag before stomping on it, and noisily paraded off as if he were flying through the air, leaving the young Lans stunned and a mortified Jingyi scoffing at his lunacy.
Sizhui, however, couldn't forget the haunted expression in the masked man's silver eyes when he looked at him. And the feeling...that there was more to this Mo Xuanyu than he made himself out to be.
That was when it had all started.
Whether it was an act or not, the longer he spent time with them, Mo Xuanyu Wei Wuxian seemed like he had genuinely grown to care for the juniors he shared in Hanguang-jun's charge. For Sizhui, it almost felt like fatherly concern. He had quickly grown to appreciate his constant praise and trust that was openly expressed with enthusiasm, as well as his protectiveness. Much like he would from Hanguang-jun, Sizhui thrived from it like a child would from his parent or master.
But now that the truth was out, could he say that he felt the same as everyone else?
Shocked, confused, angry, betrayed, and sad?
...Yes.
Afraid?
...He wasn't sure yet.
Not long after the truth was known, and they decided to investigate the Burial Mounds in Qishan, they had been overrun by a seemingly endless number of puppets. They did not see their assailment, the demonic cultivator controlling them, but his disguised voice echoed across the mounds, saying that if they didn't surrender now, the puppets would tear them apart where they stood and their bodies would never be found again. At the same time of the threat, men in ghost masks drifted between the puppets with their swords drawn as though they were offensive of line to puppets' surrounding barricade. Having no other choice, suffering a humiliating defeat, they were forced to drop their swords.
They were then tied up by the ghost-masked cultivators surrounding them, knocked unconscious, and then were dragged together in the cave of the Burial Mounds like helpless children.
When they woke up, confused and disoriented, after an exchange of questions and exclamations of confusion and anger from the others, Sizhui quickly figured out that they were likely being used for bait, though they all had feared more about being left to die, surrounded by vicious puppets, and that nobody would be able to find and rescue them.
It was even worse hearing that the juniors, Jin Chan especially, solely believed that it was Wei Wuxian who had set this trap for them. That he would turn them into puppets, turn them against each other and their families. He even stated that Jin Ling should have killed rather than just stabbing him.
Since then, there had been endless arguments, endless debating, and lots of painful head-butting for three days straight. And it didn't help that that they were getting hungry or thirsty with their hands and feet bound, their snacks and canteens within reaching distance, right next to their swords that were piled even further away. Most of their golden cores were developed so that they could hold off food and water for a week at most, but nobody knew how long it would be before they were rescued and would eventually "starve to death in this shit-hole," as Jingyi said before, so naturally it made everyone more snappish than usual.
At least there had been plenty of time for Sizhui to think things over, forcing himself cool his own mind while being tied up for three days to the hot-headed Jin Ling, naturally. All while taking in his dreary surroundings, hearing distant voices that he thought only to hear in his dreams. Side-effects from the haunted Burial Mounds?
Like everyone else, he could admit he was upset about the deception…but no, he was not afraid of Wei Wuxian.
When Hanguang-jun, Wei Wuxian, and the Ghost General had come to rescue him at long last, all Sizhui could feel at the sight of them was relief. He knew that when it came down to it, he could never truly be angry at his father, and he knew (perhaps he had always known) that Senior Wei was still their Senior Wei.
He did not even believe that he was behind their abduction. Hiring men to kidnap them would take a lot of money and planning, and Sizhui had always known Senior Wei was dirt-poor. The bewildered look the man gave him at his brutal honesty still made him inwardly smile.
He was even ready to stop Jin Ling if he thought about harming Senior Wei again. It still amazed him how forgiving the latter was, though it somehow didn't necessarily surprise him. Jin Ling looked guilty enough, though he wouldn't admit it, and Senior Wei understood his nephew's reasons...though it didn't make the deed any less disturbing for any of them (Hanguang-jun really seemed to tower over Jin Ling in that cold, threatening way that made him both feared and respected).
After all that had happened, he could not compare the evil necromancer of legend and children's scary stories to the clever, cheerful (albeit overly eccentric) man that had guided and protected them these past few weeks. The man who teased them at every opportunity and praised them when they have earned it, never showing fear in the most dangerous situations or that he was upset when hearing insults and curses about him still being thrown about (and he can imagine that Senior Wei had heard them a lot).
In that last part, however, Sizhui still believed that this was where Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun resembled each other the most. Never showing fear, never showing their vulnerability, in the face of conflict. Especially in front of the juniors.
Not long before everything fell apart––before Su She's treachery was revealed, along with Jin Guangyao's schemes––Sizhui had helplessly watched all of the senior cultivators from the gathering sects throw curses at Wei Wuxian.
His senior who stood in the center of it all with Hanguang-jun on his right and the Ghost General a little further to his left. The accusations were bad, the slander was worse, but the young necromancer just stood there silently, observing every hateful face in the hundreds spitting in his direction, and took them all in with both dignity and a resigned type of acceptance that made Sizhui even more sick to his stomach.
Hanguang-jun, even with his expressionless appearance, looked like he wanted to stand in front of Wei Wuxian and shield him from their words, or else unsheathe Bichen in retaliation. The Ghost General didn't look that much different than he ever seemed; scary as ever with just his glare and deathly corpse-like appearance combined, ready to defend his master when his life was threatened in any way.
When they were finished, Senior Wei instead gave that sharp smile of his and effortlessly responded to their insults in a very nonchalant way that was quite impressive, though no less upsetting than before.
No matter his confusion, facing him now while coming to their rescue, Sizhui found that he still very much cared for Senior Wei. He wished then and there that he had spoken up for the man when he had the chance, even if it was against Grandmaster Qiren. And he could tell Jingyi and some of the others felt the same, their faces twisted with the same guilt that he was sure reflected in his own.
Even Jin Ling, who still looked like he was torn between anger and shame, looked like he had wanted to say something, but was prevented with one sharp glare from his maternal uncle.
But it didn't matter after. When backed into a corner (quite literally for everyone), Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling both actively volunteered, without any permission from anyone, to fight alongside the Ghost General outside to keep the puppets from reaching their families. He hoped the act in itself was enough to make up for their earlier silence. After all, Hanguang-jun himself taught him that actions often spoke louder than words.
Sect Leader Su got away (actually teleported away), the barrier was broken, and Senior Wei painted himself as bait, Hanguang-jun acting as his line of defense, and the Ghost General for everyone else. Their seniors still kept voicing their disbelief in Su She's involvement, even more so his true colors as a demonic cultivator. Lan Sizhui and his companions were now almost certain that it had been Sect Leader Su who had controlled those puppets and had them captured earlier, which inevitably led everyone into a trap.
Once they got out, everyone soon realize Su She's remaining sect members had retreated while everyone had been arguing about escaping without their saviors or waiting for them to come back out alive. Sizhui, of course, would not accept either one and was ready to charge back to help. Luckily he didn't have to.
Everyone was safe now. Their decided destination still remained Lotus Pier. Senior Wei was weakened, now unconscious, but he was alive. Hanguang-jun came out with more than a few loose tears at the hem of his robes, but his concern for Senior Wei was very evident to Sizhui. The Ghost General...
When Sizhui finally looked away from his father and Senior Wei, it was then he felt another pair of eyes on him. When he met a pair of lifeless pale-gray eyes, the Ghost General––Wen Ning––had quickly looked away, walking only a couple feet behind Lan Wangji, tagging along at close range to his unconscious master.
This wasn't the first time this had happened, and it honestly left Sizhui feeling uneasy. It made him small, like the scared child he had been wanting to hide behind his father's robes, not long after he recovered from his illness, confused by his new surroundings and traumatized by a loss he couldn't remember.
Why does he keep looking at me like that?
When they finally arrive at the docks in groups gathered together where the boats and a few various disciples waited for their return, nausea seized his chest. His head grew light. Stopping in the middle of the pier, Sizhui placed a hand on his chest to take a deep breath.
Lan Jingyi, who was walking by his side, noticed his friend's predicament and placed a hand on his arm to steady him. "Sizhui, there's still a while before departure," he said, understandably. "If you're worried about seasickness, we can stay on the pier a while longer."
Sizhui nodded gratefully. "Okay."
"Sizhui." Ouyang Zichen had departed from his father's side and ran up to them, looking concerned. "You're seasick, too?" When Sizhui nodded, Zichen became confused. "But you're from Gusu, aren't you? How can you get seasick if you're not a northerner?"
"I have no idea," Sizhui answered truthfully, and grimaced. "It's been like this since I was about four or five years old. I might have been born like this." He exchanged a knowing look with Jingyi.
It was true what Sizhui had said. While he couldn't remember much of his life before he had nearly died from an feverish illness, the first time he had realized he had been prone to seasickness when he was about around five years old. That same year, he had officially become close friends with Lan Jingyi, GusuLan's biggest and loudest little troublemaker. Also that same day of the same year, the two of them had broken more then a few dozen rules of Cloud Recesses in one fell swoop.
Lan Jingyi (A-Yi, back then) had been both the wariest and most curious about the strange kid who was his idol's proclaimed son.
Their relationship the first couple years of knowing each other had been rocky and complex, so it was hard to say whether or not they had been friends or rivals (but secretly, Lan Yuan found him pretty amusing, and very nostalgic for some reason, and it later turned out that feeling had been very mutual for Jingyi).
This had taken place around a year before his father could finally be well enough to leave seclusion, and since both Grandmaster Lan Qiren and Zewu-jun were adamant in the rules regarding young children––especially Lan children––Lan Sizhui (Lan Yuan, back then) had never left the Cloud Recesses. He hadn't been allowed to, no matter how much he begged. He only got scolded for it or was dismissed without further ado.
Long story short: the little boys had managed to sneak out of Cloud Recesses with "borrowed" jade tokens and made it to Caiyi Town. By the end of the day, they were caught (snacking and hiding under the blanket on a merchant's boat full of fruit baskets, no less, resulting in Lan Yuan puking in the basket of full of loquats they had been secretly eating out of) and dragged back to Cloud Recesses to face punishment together.
Xewu-jun had been exasperated. Lan Qiren had been livid. Hanguang-jun had been nearly consumed with worry. All three, however, had shown how disappointed they were, and Lan Yuan had felt so ashamed of himself that he vowed that day to be a better Lan disciple; to be filial and to be thankful, and never give his father reason to worry ever again.
Also, to never eat near the water again. Especially a loquat.
Though Sizhui had better control of his seasickness now, it still embarrassed him that it could still affect him to this extent, and he had even stepped on the boat yet.
Taking another deep breath, Sizhui felt some of it subside as his core pressed it down. When he nodded to Jingyi, the latter confirmed, "Let's go."
They took a step forward, when Ouyang Zichen suddenly halted and backed up into them, looking pale as he looked ahead before they did. "G-Ghost General!" he gasped, shakily, and Jingyi and Sizhui froze with him.
Indeed, it was the Ghost General. Wen Ning. As if in a trance, he was walking slowly in their direction with inhuman grace. Though the resentful energy that had run wild during his fight with the puppets had calmed greatly, the whisper of it left mildly hovered around his presence like a sleeping beast. The air around them grew heavier, Sizhui feeling his heart increase as the fierce corpse approached them.
"What does he want?" Jingyi whispered anxiously.
"Is he going to be riding with us?" whispered Zichen in terror.
"Shouldn't he be with Senior Wei?"
They had never seen the Ghost General without Senior Wei, or be this close to him without it resulting in a fight. Knowing this had robbed them of their confidence around the fierce corpse, and they had no idea what he would do without his master to watch him. After all, though under control at the time, the Ghost General would have strangled Jingyi if Senior hadn't calmed him down with the flute (though looking back on it, Sizhui could admit that had been their fault for foolishly attacking first back at Dafan Mountain).
Wen Ning paused. There was an unreadable look in his death-white features, a stark contrast to his ebony black robes with their eerily languid flow, making him look as ghoulishly intimidating as the last few times they had unwittingly crossed paths with him. His wrists were still bound with black iron shackles, linked with chains long broken. His alabaster neck bore the inky black, web-like pattern of vein lines that sharply grew more distinctive as he neared. His pale gray eyes were fixed on them...
...No. It became more clear that those pale gray eyes were fixed specifically on Lan Sizhui.
As the Ghost General started coming even closer, Ouyang Zichen and Lan Jingyi backed away a few steps. Lan Sizhui found himself frozen in place, and felt his eyes grown wider as the fierce corpse neared. His hand gripped his sword tightly, its inner power screaming at him like a second-natured conscious thought Fierce corpse! Cut down! while his own bodily instincts screamed Run! Stay clear!
But he did neither of those. Because above all those instincts that surrounded the core which makes him into a cultivator, his mind and heart had a different agenda. He wasn't sure why, but no matter how intimidating the fierce corpse seemed now, there was something about him that felt eerily familiar. Something, much he first did towards Senior Wei, that intrigued him, filling him with a sense of awe.
But he couldn't imagine what the Ghost General wanted with them that didn't involve Wei Wuxian...or was it just Sizhui?
He wondered fleetingly if Senior Wei regained consciousness yet.
Probably noticing the wide-eyed look on the boy's face, the fierce corpse paused in his steps. Then, bowing his head shyly, he took a full step back, keeping a safe distance.
Oh I see. Though Sizhui felt himself relax a little, he quickly understood Wen Ning's intentions.
Just with that simple gesture, Wen Ning was showing them that he meant them no harm, that he knew very well how much they––and any other living human––fear him as a fierce corpse, and that they knew he could easily overpower them by physical force if he wanted to. He was giving them the choice to approach him first when they felt more comfortable to do so.
He was reminded of the first time his father showed him the rabbits hidden in the hills of Gusu when he was very small. In order to win a rabbit's trust, you must be quiet and gentle with them. You must let them approach you first, or else they will see you as a threat and run away.
Though he had grown up feeding and playing with them, feeling as though he could relate to them to them in terms of being small and curious, Sizhui never emphasized with Gusu's rabbits more than he did now.
"W-What..." Hesitantly, Wen Ning spoke for the first time, and it was still directed at Lan Sizhui, "W-What is your n-name?"
It was still completely surprising how soft and timid the fierce corpse actually sounded, let alone stuttered. In battle, his growls and roars were always so loud and bone-shilling, with the physical strength of ten to hundred men and an explosive rage that could likely rival Sect Leader Jiang's. Yet he quickly reminded himself that this undead man had fought for them and protected them from the hundreds of other puppets back in the Burial Mounds. Fought for Senior Wei. Surely it hadn't been solely under Senior Wei's orders?
Sizhui then remembered the way Wen Ning had looked at him before, back in Burial Mounds, when Senior Wei had just passed out. He remembered how vulnerable it made him feel, just like when the fierce corpse had approached him and his friends while tied up in the cave. He had looked frightening, intimidating, his face hard and unreadable like stone marble...even as he had promptly cut them loose with Senior Wei's sword.
Senior Wei had even whined aloud about Wen Ning being more scary than he was, as if the roles should be reversed in his mind. Just like that, despite the Ghost General's strange nature, Sizhui's fear was overshadowed with sheepish gratitude.
Yet there had always been something about Wen Ning...that was distinctly familiar. Something that pulled at his memory. Almost similar to how he always felt around Senior Wei.
It had felt like that from the moment the Ghost General had jumped out of the trees and destroyed the Dancing Goddess back at Dafan Mountain.
Like he somehow knew him...
Don't be afraid. Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei's voices whispered to him.
Knowing that his friends were still a little afraid of the fierce corpse, Sizhui knew it had to be him. He was curious to know what the Ghost General wanted, and a part of him was excited to actually have an opportunity to talk to a fierce corpse with a mind of his own.
So, schooling his features into pleasant politeness, Sizhui took a step forward.
He will not hurt me, he assured himself, and then put his hands together before formally bowing to the Ghost General. Like he would greet any other decent person. "I'm a disciple of GusuLan," he said graciously. "My name is Lan Yuan."
"Lan Yuan...?" A breathy whisper. Wen Ning's eyes lost in thought and searching, as though trying to retain a memory, before they were fixed back on Sizhui again. "D-D-Do you know wh-who gave you that name?" he blurted out.
What an odd question. "I think it's from my parents," Sizhui told him anyway.
At least, that's what he assumed. 'Yuan' had been the name he had always known.
"A-Are y-your parents st-still alive?"
Taken aback by the desperation in Wen Ning's tone, Sizhui thought carefully before replying quietly, trying to ignore the painful twist in his chest as he did. "My parents," he said slowly, "passed away when I was little."
Wen Ning stared at him, speechless for a long time. A glimmering spark started to light in those colorless orbs, glistening with a world of sadness that no one could begin to fathom as he looked at the young Lan disciple. He seemed to be drifting in and out of focus with deep thought, gradually showing more human emotion than he ever did around the juniors.
Why is any of this so important to him? Sizhui wondered what was going on in the other's mind, when he felt Ouyang Zichen hastily come up at his side.
"Sizhui," he whispered hastily in his ear, "don't tell him too much in case it's a trap." With a nervous glance back at the fierce corpse, he retreated back to Lan Jingyi's side, who was watching the exchange with wide-eyed awe. Jin Ling, who was standing a few feet behind them, was glaring hatefully at the Ghost General. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white, ready to draw if the fierce corpse so much as a made a wrong move towards Lan Sizhui.
Still, Sizhui could feel the young Jin heir's eyes bearing into his back, and a spike of guilt shot through him when he could only imagine what his friend must be thinking talking directly to his father's killer...
"Sizhui," Wen Ning finally spoke to him again, having heard what Zichen said. His face looked openly wondrous. "Sizhui is your courtesy name?"
Sizhui nodded, smiling in spite of himself. "It is."
"Who gave it to you?" Wen Ning seemed eager to know more.
"Hanguang-Jun."
Wen Ning looked once again lost in thought, as well as at a loss for words. His lips were moving, but the whispers were incomprehensible. Something like realization and distant emotion had his attention drifting away from the boy. If he were still alive, he probably would have also forgotten to breathe. Was it sadness? Was it shock?
"What's going on?" Sizhui heard his friends whisper to each other in confusion.
Worried to have upset him, he tried calling back the undead man's attention, "Ghost––" Wincing, he tried again, "Master Wen," he settled, and continued hesitantly, "Is there something wrong with my name?"
Wen Ning quickly looked up. From the way his lips twitched up and his eyes seemed to shine a little more like they hadn't before, whatever overwhelmed his features seemed to actually brighten slightly into an almost-smile for the first time. "N-No," he managed, shaking his head, "N-Not at all. Y-You just...look like a distant r-relative of mine."
Sizhui chuckled softly, feeling himself blush a little at this comment. He heard his friends giggle in the background, Ouyang Zichen saying, "I didn't know the Ghost General could engage with others."
Wen Ning seemed to be quietly watching him again, studying his features almost hungrily, as if wanting to absorb every detail of his appearance. Perhaps remembering fondly of that distant relative?
Sizhui felt a little shy and awkward at the intense way the fierce corpse seemed to stare at him like this, almost like he was a rare and mysterious treasure to be admired. At the same time, however, he too found himself caught on by Master Wen's features. Those familiar cheekbones, the shape of his nose, the light in his normally dulled colorless eyes when he looked at him...Images, however blurred and distant, started to brush at his memories.
That face...the black lines along his neck...that gentle, little smile that seemed to be very rare to summon on the otherwise unmoving expression...
Large, icy-cold hands lightly patting his head...wiping his mouth after he ate...brushing against his cheek with a tender, comforting caress when he cried...
'Brother Charcoal! Brother Charcoal!'
He imagined this face giving him that same smile down at him as though he were much smaller and this man much larger, kneeling down so that they were close to the same level, the deep affection in his colorless eyes warm and unconditional as they promised to always protect him. That he would make sure that he was healthy, safe, and cared for...who would hold him in his arms and would take down any monster or nightmare that would do him harm. Though he looked dark and scary to others, he was gentle and loving to him. Big brotherly and paternal, like his Xian-gege, but quieter.
His imaginary friend from childhood, Sizhui remembered fondly. Brother Charcoal.
Remembering this filled the Lan disciple with warmth and security. It made him feel that he could truly fear nothing so long as his gentle-strong, imaginary dark protector was there. Like the one in his dreams, taking down the golden monsters in the rain at one point, and then feeding him spoonfuls of delicious soup the next. Then, every night, he would sit vigilantly above him, never too far away, guarding him from nightmares while he slept, while listening to the familiar sound of a flute like a beautiful lullaby...
Arms wrapped around him, rocking him gently...cold lips pressed to his forehead...a whisper in his ear...
'A-Yuan...Y-Your baba...h-he l-loves you more than life itself...'
With a stutter, just like this one.
Why does his face look so familiar?
"Young Master Lan? Young Master..." Snapping out of his thoughts, Sizhui blinked when realizing Senior Wen was speaking to him. "M-May I call you..." he asked, and hesitated before whispering, "...A-Yuan?"
Sizhui smiled with a nod. "Of course!"
Wen Ning's own smile grew, more real and lively, as if Sizhui had just given him a gift. One would even think for a moment he was still a living, breathing person. "A-Yuan," he said, "how have you been all these years?"
"I've been living well," said Sizhui, feeling genuinely comfortable now.
Wen Ning's smile suddenly wavered, becoming strained. "Hanguang-jun...m-must have been v-very nice to you," he murmured.
Sizhui nodded proudly. "He's been like a father and a brother to me. He taught me how to play the Qin."
And so much more. He could talk about the many things that Hanguang-jun had done for him throughout his life for hours. Things he could never be able to repay enough for his love as a parent and teacher. He's my whole world.
"H-How old were you when Hanguang-jun...s-started taking care of you?" pressed Wen Ning. He looked like he was trying to keep his voice steady, but failing.
The boy frowned, thinking for a moment. "I can't remember," he said finally. "About four or five, maybe."
That had been around the time he had recovered from his childhood fever. Memories of waking up were still blurry, but he remembered the feeling of having having cool wet rags wiping his face, being carried in a pair strong arms, Zewu-jun's murmuring voice, and finally, when the world began to clear, Hanguang-jun's golden eyes and his soft, tenor voice. Mesmerized by the heavenly appearance of the man leaning over him, humming to him, caressing his hair and cheeks with eyes rimmed with tears of relief and hope, the toddler had let himself bathe into that fatherly love for perhaps a few minutes before he was lulled gently back to sleep in Hanguang-jun's arms.
"But when I was even younger," he continued, slowly, "he couldn't have taken care of me then, because he seemed to be isolating himself during those years."
Nobody really knew how old, or when his real birthday was, but he had been in and out of sickness for two months from both the fever and malnutrition (it could also be said that it was from trauma), but they knew he had to be around three years old when he was taken in. They decided that the day little A-Yuan had finally opened his eyes, the day that the toddler woke up in his adopted father's arms, would be the little boy's fourth birthday. A new beginning.
Wen Ning pressed his lips together as he looked at Sizhui. Then, as though making a decision to himself, he started digging into his robes as Sizhui watched wordlessly.
"What's he doing?" Ouyang Zichen whispered, echoing Sizhui's thoughts, as he and Jingyi were just as curious about the Ghost General's intentions as he was.
Jin Ling just grew even tenser, as if expecting the fierce corpse to pull out a weapon. Which didn't make sense, because if the latter wanted to hurt them, he would only need his bare hands...
Finally, Wen Ning pulled out a loosely-wrapped package. With carefully fingers, he unwrapped the cloth.
Sizhui's heart gave a startled leap when he saw, held out in his hand with such care, was a brand-new grass butterfly.
"I-I bought it when I was passing by the wharf," Wen Ning said shy. "I-I thought you'd like it."
Sizhui couldn't stop staring at it, forgetting to breathe. The butterfly...it's craftsmanship...
"P-Please take it."
Breathless, Sizhui looked up at Wen Ning, who was still waiting for him to accept it with such a hopeful look––the look of one who previously carried such unspeakable sadness and pain in silence for so long (Like Father once did, he realized with a start)––that he couldn't refuse such a thoughtful gift from this kind-hearted soul.
Time seemed to slow down as the young Lan disciple reached out to accept the butterfly. When he took the butterfly, he felt the pale hand shaking, probably from nervousness.
As Sizhui stared at the butterfly, feeling its rough texture between his fingers, which also began to tremble, he couldn't believe it until it suddenly hit him.
This type of butterfly is Yiling-made. Could that mean...
Wen Ning went from hopeful to confused, when Sizhui gave him a wide-eyed look, before digging into his own white robes, where he fished out a familiar wrap he kept close by everywhere he went for as long he could remember.
Hands shaking with anticipation, he hastily unfolded his own cloth, which was battered and old from the same material, and low and behold, he held up his own grass butterfly. Brown and stained and dried-out with time, but still held together in almost-perfect condition after a decade and a half.
It was one possession, the one clue, he had left that was connected to his old life. He had never again found another grass-made butterfly of this design, not even in the other nearby towns he had visited. Until now, here in Yiling, Qishan.
They were the same.
That meant Sizhui had been here before. Long ago, before he had ever come to Gusu. Before he was adopted by the Lan sect. Back before he had forgotten everything, when his family was still alive. Back when...
A larger, graceful hand with an ivory white and blue sleeve plucked a straw-butterfly on a stick and held it out to him. Excited, his tiny hand reached out to accept the gift.
There had been two butterflies. Matching ones. Friends for life. Mates for life. He loved them so much, and therefore was so grateful to the man he was just minutes ago afraid of. 'Rich-gege' he decided to call him, because he was not allowed to call him 'Die-die.' He already had one, his 'Xian-gege,' but he was not allowed to call him that either, because it made him feel 'old'. He even tried to call him 'mommy' once, because it felt like the name fit more when comparing him to the man in white, but that had been shot down almost immediately. So, in the end, they were both called 'brother,' though in his mind they were 'mommy and daddy.'
In the middle of bustling town full fo people and stands, smelling strongly of food and plants, he let the butterflies fly.
Mates for life. Like the two men whose thighs he could only hug close to his heart.
I was here, in Qishan, thought Sizhui with wide-eyes. Emotion choked him into speechlessness. Rich-gege was Hanguang-jun. But...who was the man in black? He was father, wasn't he? Why did I call him 'Xian-gege?'
Sizhui's head shot up to Wen Ning, who was staring at both the both the butterfly and the boy in shock. Realization slammed into him, like the rush of oncoming memories that awakening, why he looked so familiar to him. The clues he gathered for a lifetime started to slot in place.
Had his loving, protective imaginary friend Brother Charcoal actually been real all along, from his earliest memories?
Are the Ghost General and Brother Charcoal one and the same? Did it mean he already knew Wen Ning...or that Wen Ning already knew him?
Then...
Emotion bubbled inside him. His eyes stung, as he looked back down at the butterfly in his hand.
His his Xian-gege, his first parent, the father he lost and tried so hard to remember...was it Senior Wei?
"...A-Yuan?" Wen Ning's voice actually broke. His colorless eyes, wide and shiny, seemed to actually be close to tears as he stared at Sizhui.
"A-Yuan..."
He had murmured his name. Even though Sizhui had never told him his birth name. Senior Wei face had been full of pain and longing, even while unconscious...
Xian-gege...Baba...
Hands shaking, almost hesitantly, with a stuttering breath, Wen Ning slowly started to reach a hand out, as if meaning to touch Sizhui's face.
Then came a loud ring of steel from the unsheathing of a sword. Wen Ning dropped his hand, and Sizhui whipped around in surprise, before dread filled his heart.
"Jin Ling."
First it was meant to be a one-shot. Then it was meant to have two parts. Third time is charm, right?
Stay tuned!:)